A Light In The Dark
by Lyall Fidelis
Summary: A one-shot AU of a Modern Kirkwall.


**A/N- Inspired by a Tumblr post that said "If I wrote a Modern AU, Anders would be a paramedic." Well, he's not quite a paramedic. But it made me spout off and write this.**

The back alleys of the city was a place no one went without a knife in hand. Only criminals would dare be out this late at night. The streets were covered in cigarette butts and glass from the shattered windows of what used to be cars. Now they were just a rusting casing of their former glory, to the point where even the tires were missing and supported by blocks of cement._ Where do they get the cement?_ I shook my head and tossed the thoughts out. This was no time to be distracting myself with such trivial things. I came here for a purpose.

I hugged my arms to myself, focusing on the feel of my wallet. Only twenty dollars left. Just enough to get what I needed and get out before the shadows even notice I'm here. That's just what I told myself as I walked up the beaten path to the desolate apartment building. The windows were mostly boarded up with ply wood and the door looked as if it were rotting off the hinges. Everything about the building screamed for me to turn away. But I couldn't. Not yet.

I knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Creak. It opened a crack. Enough for two dark brown eyes to peer out of it. "What do you want?"

I looked around hesitantly and back to the crack in the door. "Are you Samson?"

"Yeah," the eyes scrutinized me through the crack, "what do you want?"

"I hear you have some dust," I said simply and taking out the twenty from my wallet. I held it to the crack and watched as the eyes moved down to the green between my fingers.

"Give me a minute." The door shut and there was a shifting and crashing sound behind it, followed by a few mumbled curses. The door opened again, more fully this time. I saw the dark round circles under Samson's eyes and the scruff on his chin. His hair looked as if it hadn't been washed in a week. He held out a small ball of white in a clear plastic bag. "Here. And you didn't get any from me."

Just as he was about to take the money from me, I dropped the bill and grabbed onto his wrist, pulling out a gun from the holster hidden at my side. "No, I'm afraid you did."

"Shit! I knew I recognized you!" He yelled and tried to struggle out of my grasp. I tried to point the gun to his head to get him to calm down and realize that his life was in my hands, but it just made him flail more. His arm swung up and hit the wrist holding my pistol, causing it to drop to the ground.

The safety was off.

The impact made it fire.

I went down as my leg surged in pain. My body tossed itself down the hard stone stairs, causing my head to knock against the pavement. A blur that looked like Samson scrambled away from me and back inside the house. And that's when it all went black.

I woke up with a throbbing on the back of my skull, but nothing could compare to the sharp pains that I felt in my leg. My body was laying flat on some hard cushioned surface and a bright lamp stung my eyes as I attempted to open them. Pushing my arms against the bed-like surface, I tried to sit up but was immediately pushed back down gently. "Don't move. It's going to be harder to wrap your leg up if you move."

I blinked a few times to try and focus on the man who had just spoken. Long blonde hair caught my vision, but not before I saw warm and almost comforting gold eyes looking at me. The man was in tattered clothing, but he looked more suited for a classy suite and a bottle of wine than holding the blood stained bandages.

"Where am I," I questioned the man as he went back down to work on my leg. For a few moments, he just quietly cleaned the bloody skin surrounding the wound before silently saying, "You're in my clinic."

I let out a small laugh, which hurt from the exertion, "A clinic? Here?"

A smile formed on the corner of his mouth. "Even the poor need somewhere to go when they're sick. Or in your case, shot and then suffering from a concussion."

I snorted lightly, "I suppose you're right. So who may I thank for this clinic?"

He looked up from his work and nodded in greeting towards me. "You can call me Anders. And who is this that I'm treating?"

"Hawke. Garrett Hawke. And do you mind knocking me out again? This hurts like hell."


End file.
